The Arkham Monologues
by squeakythe2nd
Summary: A series of writing looking at Batman's greatest foes; through their own eyes.
1. Chapter 1

Please. Stop struggling. You're moving the chair around and you'll make the most dreadful marks on the floor. This floor is expensive you know. Still screaming? Still struggling? You have no respect. I am Victor Zsasz. I am not your foe. I am your saviour. Fear not little pig, my beautiful little pig, for your time has already come. All the others, they just…. now what's the word? Wander? Drift? Ahh, it doesn't matter. But you. You, little piggy, are going to be saved, by me. Don't cry. You should rejoice, rejoice in every, liberating stroke I make against your soft, sweet, flesh. You are making a mess of yourself. All this screaming, all these tears. They won't do any good. Nobody is coming. Rejoice and praise that fact, Little Piggy, for I shall save you.

Save you from what? Life. My clients are often afraid when they find themselves like you. They want to live. They want to keep on suckling air, gorging themselves until they die and what for? Who will really care when you die? I've followed you for some time, not stalked mind you, my purpose is far nobler. Anybody else would just do something terrible to you and leave you in a gutter. That isn't fair is it? But those horrible, horrible people aren't here now, so don't worry. You're safe with Zsasz your saviour. Oh please do stop trying to scream. I'm actually impressed you still have breath in your lungs to do that and the sobbing. Dear me; you're making such a mess of yourself. What would your parents say?

Oh that's right; you're an orphan. Trust me, I know these things. I take pride in my work. I've been looking at you for weeks now and I've determined that by silting your throat, I'll be helping you more than anybody in your life has. They've just left you. Knocked you down. Beat you. Stamped your face into the dirt. There is no point for you to suffer like this anymore my dear, sweetest, Little Piggy, so why bother? Can't you see each breath hurting you, every step just causing you more and more pain? But don't worry and please don't cry. I'll make it stop for you. I'll give you what you've always wanted peace. Those bonds won't come loose. I've tested them out extensively and if I if you did get free you'd still be trapped her. Every door and window is locked and bolted. It's a small house. Tell me, do think you'd be able to run and fight me off forever? Or will it end with my blades, your body and a pool of blood?

I think option two is more likely, don't you Little Piggy?

People won't remember you. You've got no parents, no brothers, no sisters and your friends only like you through sympathy. They feel sorry for you. They only hang around with a worthless dreg like because they pity you. That isn't nice. That's horrible. It makes me sick. To give you that false hope.

Don't worry I'll save them all soon. You have my word.

But I'll remember you. I'll mark your life into a skin, a memory on my flesh. I know each and every person that I've liberated. Every person lucky enough to feel my steel cut their skin. Midriff; a banker, in debt, drinking, worthless, hopeless. Back of the neck, some street worker, drugs, unhappy, eyes always red with tears. Forehead, through the middle of the other four? That's for somebody very, very special. My arm? Left? Now that is a very important mark indeed. Robber tramp with a knife. The surprise in his eyes when I took his knife away from was just… beautiful. Truly fantastic. Brings tears to my ears when I think about it. The start of my career as the saviour of Gotham. Not that low some, vile, bat creature!

They say you always remember your first time.

Ahem. I apologise for my last outburst. I'm a professional in this and I shouldn't let my emotions get the better of me. It's just that, well the thought of the Batman just makes me so enraged. He isn't a hero! He's just a thug dressed up as bat. I'll relish the moment when I find it. I'll make it last, I'll make it slow.

But first, I must save you little piggy. The tears will stop. Your heart will stop beating, your lungs will stop taking in every disgusting drop of air in this city. Sweet, dear, pretty, Little Piggy, your struggle will be over soon. Now I'll just get my knives and I'm sure you've figured out what happens next, Little Piggy. Yes, the intensity of your struggling tells me so.

Now, let me see your neck. Chin up now. That's better.

I'm going to make my mark.


	2. Chapter 2

Right. Now you lot all ain't bright, that's for sure. But who needs brains, when you've got state-of-the art shotguns and all of these lovely grenades ready to bring pools and tears of blood to whoever tries to mess with you? But what you are is the best. The most violent bunch of criminals, murders, killers and psychopaths in this city. That's all I take in. The best. You're all violent, sadistic, and brutal and visually unpleasing, but that don't matter. 'Cause what we're gonna do, boys, is war.

Death to the clown! He's nothing more than a sick puppy with some laughing gas and a string of poor jokes. We, boys, will 'ave him reduced to nothing more than a purple suit and a chalk white stain on the floor.

Death to Dent! Death to his mob! Death to his speeches! Let's get all his boys and cut 'em in two to show them not to mess with us! Vote Dent? Kill Dent!

Death to the Batman! Death to that sneaky, nosy, arse of a rodent!

And, most importantly, death to that bloody oaf, Bruce Wayne, for the day he ruined the Copplepots!

Please, I'm flattered, but no more cheering. We've got business to discuss. We're gonna need a plan boys, to rule this city. We can't just run in guns blazing and tear some people to pieces, as funny as that sounds. We're gonna have to think this through and strike when the other runts in this cesspit least expects us, then use lots of lovely machine guns and explosives to kill them all. Then, we're gonna show anybody else who messes with us how to behave using knives and blowtorches. Then we're gonna bring down Hugo Strange, and staple his body all over the walls. Then, we will have of those lovely Tyger tools. All those sniper rifles and thermal goggles and stuff you lot ain't never heard of.

Now boys. Listen up and listen well. There are few things is this world that annoy me. First of all, I'm the boss. You do as I say. No whinny, no being a ponce and no failing me. If you think of even ever considering failing me, oh! You'd better run as far away from me as you can, 'cause when I catch you I'm going tear you apart limb from bloody limb. Then I'll send you out into the freezing cold, and make you tap dance. You got that! Say yes Mr Copplepot. That's better. But I'm sure, with you lot being the best in the business, that that'll never, appen and we will all get on, nice and peachy.

Now I've got some jobs for you lot. You boy. Yes you. I've got a job for you. The clown's girlfriend, Haley something or other, likes to keep around two mangy little mutts. I think they would look quite nice here. Still. Behind a pane of glass. On display. Get my meaning lads? Excellent lads! You know where the snipers are. Get to the mill and get to work. Make sure you don't waste bullets, 'cause a mercenary without hands isn't very useful if you get my drift. Smart man. Try not to make them bleed too much will you? It'll be a nightmare to clean.

Right you. You're the best sharpshooter I've got and I've got a very special job for you. Get the clown in your sights and blow that stupid smile fifty feet away through his neck. If you succeed there's 100 grand in it for ya. If not, then you'd better consider turning that gun on yourself. He's in the mill and I hear he'll be dead in a few days anyway. Funny as it would be to just let him die slowly and painfully, we need to press our advantages whenever we can get them.

Sickle! Take the rest of the lads out of here and over to the courthouse. Try to keep a low profile will ya and look out for the Bat. He has an annoying habit of appearing out of anyway and beating the snot out you people. Don't let it happen to you. Anybody who gets him will get 200 grand. Plus any lovely toys you might want.

Well lads. I hear Dent is down in the dumps and lonely.

I think he needs to be cheered up.

I think he needs somebody to visit him.


	3. Chapter 3

Do you know who am, little, man? No, I am not some "weedy little punk with a sack on his head," I am Scarecrow. The God of Fear. Arrogant of me? Well, I'll be sure to quell your uncertainties, so don't fret about that. What was that? Through all your spittle I've detected a message.

What was that? Speak up. You work for Bane?

You say he will, what was that, break me in half? Is that all that uncouth, wrestler, brute can do? Is that all he ever strives for? He'll never be able to find me. But let's say that he, somehow, found out where a poor weedy punk like me lives. Then he'll have to make it here. Then he'd have to get pass my fear gas. Yes. My famous fear gas. He might be able to punch me. But can he punch his the demons of mind? The shades that lurk in his sanity.

Bane is fearless you say?

Poor, arrogant, stupid little, man. We all fear something. Fear is natural. Fear is vital. Fear is what makes us human. The stupid man fights and gets killed. But the fearful man, he stays back and lives. He knows not to attack head on. His fear teaches him to respect his opponents, to stay out of there way. This man lives.

You, clearly, fit the first of these two categories. Now. What do you fear?

"Nuthin?" You say? Please, learn to speak correctly. It is bad enough having to look at your face without hear the way you make an abomination of language. Now, let me just get this syringe. Get it away from you? Please keep on encouraging me. The twitching of your body. The fear in your eyes. Your panicked breath. You're delightful screeching. It is so wonderful. It is beautiful.

It is perfection.

Your fear. Let it control you. Let it take you over. Let it embrace every inch of your being. Don't fight it. You can't fight it, any more than you can fight a storm or a fire. Just relax. Stop screaming. Stop crying. You are terrified. Accept this fact.

You won't?

Neither do the rest of them.

But enough moaning from me. Tell me; what do you see? What horrors are presented to your eyes? Are your eyes crawling with maggots? Is your flesh burning and teeming with flames? You see, a figure? Shaped like a man, but with glowing red eyes and a hot, iron brand in his hand. Stop hitting me dad? Could you describe more to me or are you just going to blabber "please," consistently. Sigh. I guess I'll just let you blabber around for a bit. It's actually amusing, watching a tough strong guy like you babbling and crying like a little baby. Snivelling, helpless. You can't punch or shoot your way out of this situation. You can't punch or shoot yourself. You can't punch or shoot your fear.

You've gone awfully quiet. Don't tell me you've given up already. Oh, you've died. Cardiac arrest. I've seen people half your obnoxious size last far longer than you have. Still the information I got was most… appeasing. So it appears that the fear toxin can trigger memories based on traumatic experiences in the past. I'll have to find another specimen to test this hypothesis further.

But first I've got to get rid of you. My god; have you got protein shakes in your veins rather than blood? I can't move you and I don't want this boat smelling of your rotting flesh. I'll worry about that later. Maybe I can get somebody else to do the work for me?

What if I lured Batman here?

I'll have to make a plan. A very good plan.

Now. I believe it is time to send out another message, sent as a code naturally; it'll let surprise, tension and paranoia cloud Gotham like a plague. Now let's just check it's all plugged in. Just put that thing in there and here we go.

Ahem.

I am the Scarecrow.

I am the God of Fear.

Tremble Gotham, for your sanity is over.


	4. Chapter 4

I apologise this took so long to get out. School work coming think and fast right now. Should lessen up by around June, July, but I'll update this when I can.

Eight thugs. All armed to teeth. Grenades and shotguns and snipers and body armour. The tools of the brute. No man could ever get past a group like you. They are all scared silly of big, tough boys like you. You've got the mill secure for the clown and nobody would ever dare to come in and face you.

Enter one Batman.

Cretins. It is going to be wonderful watching the outcome of this. Look at you down there, in your armour. Batman can't take you down! You're just too big and strong. The rest of you look nervous and rightly so; without me, you slack-jawed molasses brained simpletons would have failed long ago. It is only because of the intellectual guidance of I, The Riddler that you have survived as long as you have. Now worms, get the work and find this man. Search every corner. Check every vent and, the most important advice of all. Look up.

Crush him. Can you mindless simpletons achieve that, or are you going to remain drowning in the same sea of mediocrity as your peers? We shall see. In any case, it's going to be interesting to watch the punishment given out that the dumb like you clearly deserve.

Dammit! Why is this speaker so inefficient? I suppose for one to remain masterfully undetectable, um, sacrifices, have to be made.

Oh and would you look at that. Batman's strung the armoured thug on one of his vantage points, why are they there anyway? What point do they serve? Down goes the Sniper! Now that didn't sound pretty at all.

It matters not, all you cretins need to do find and kill him. Without dying please, but I'm sure I'm asking a lot when I say that, so I'm not anticipating great results.

As much as I despise the clown, I have to admit one thing. This _is_ pretty funny. Watching you all trying to find him, running around, squealing like the babies you all are. There are a series of advanced mental technique you can use to calm your nerves and focus. Unfortunately, you are all far, far too stupid to use any of them.

Honestly Batman. Why do you have to keep destroying the place wherever you go? All those vent covers cost money to replace and that Cretin's medical bill will cost a fair few green backs. Did you morons manage to shot him dead or did he escape again. Your panicking confirms that answer two is the correct one.

Tell me, Cretins, why I am not surprised.

Yes you will all die down there. How sporting of you to accept that fact. Now there are just four of you left. Four little simpletons, waiting as the big, bad, Batman picks them off one by one.

Say what is that strange sound? It appears to sonic and nature, designed to mess with your heartbeat monitors. He must be using it to lure you to a specific position, then take you out. Surely you can't be foolish enough to fool for such a childish tactic. But I guess even I was optimistic about your intelligence. It's amusing to watch you inch toward the sound, shaking, trying to work out what it is with that pathetic, ugly mass that you call a brain. "What is it?" "Why is it making that crazy sound?"

Did I hire the "toughest, bravest and fearless?", or the "weakest, cowardly, wimpiest," I think I hired the second one. Stop jumping at every shadow, cowering at every movement and find him.

Ohh. The entire ceiling Batman. Really? That is a tad dramatic, but I suppose you can only find a way out situations by being the brute you are. Look at the poor cretin, all that dust and all that wall. It matters not. They all this deserve what is coming to them.

So four little cretins down. Three little cretins left. Can you win? Can you actually beat the Bat? I predict misery and a headache in your future, not success.

Go after me next? First you all, you'd have to stop Batman. Given that he deals with people far, far above anything you could ever hope to be, I'd say the chances of that are… slim. Second of all, you'd have to find me.

Not even the Bat will find me.

Hear me Batman. You may have a bunch of stupid gadgets and all that muscle. But that won't help you reach me. I'll just stay in here, watching you run to get my hostages or trying to get another trophy. I am clearly smarter than you.

This is not a contest of brawns

This is a contest of brains. A contest that I shall clearly win and leave you mewling and sobbing, curled up and crying in the dirt. Why can't you accept that? Why can't you just give up? You are not hero.

Wait, wait. Batman is preparing one of his silly gadgets. Just look and all the smoke and when it disappears two cretins are on the floor and Batman is gone.

Such as mystery.

Seven stupid buffoons down. Just one terrified buffoon left. I've seen people about to be sliced in two in a less hysterical state than you.

Do you honestly think you can win? You, just you? Look at yourself. Jittery, jumping at every minor sound, pleading that he doesn't get you. That he'll show mercy on you. That he won't hurt you.

The shadow above your head suggests otherwise. He's coming closer.

Closer…

Closer…

Closer…

Have a nice trip cretin!


	5. Chapter 5

I'm honestly not so sure about this one, but an update is an update. Again, sorry it took so long.

(Broadcast play across Gotham city)

Brothers! Sisters! You have been oppressed for too long! The system has been working to destroy, not help you. They are blind to your cries. They don't care for your pain. This city is going down into the gutter and yet they do nothing. They just sit on their laurels, while the rest of us are dragged deeper into the quagmire.

But not I, Anarky.

This city needs a new path. It needs to get rid of its police, its government, its courts. All are working against, not for, the people. The longer these, these, corruptions of men stay in power then the light of day shall never truly shine in Gotham.

Tonight is the night, Brothers and Sisters. Tonight is time to act. Tonight is the time to say "NO!". Tonight is the time for a revolution. Gotham's current system isn't just weakening; it's damaging. The longer Gotham stays in their iron grasp, the longer its people will suffer.

Tell me, when have the police been there to protect you? To ensure order and justice are enforced, to be a force of hope in this bleak world. Or are they a force of misery, a corrupt organisation that seeks to oppress you, the citizens of Gotham. How many times have they ignored our suffering, closed their ears to our pleas? Their pockets are all lined with money. Dirty money. Stolen money. Blood money.

But fear not! For I seek to take Gotham out of this cesspool, to give hope and meaning to all those that slink around this city, not ever daring to talk out of line, to question our oppressors. We, Brothers and Sisters, shall forge a new age We shall bow down no longer! We shall cast down the corruption this infests this city and make Gotham rise high and proud once again.

We need to target where Gotham's corruption is at its strongest and deal them a crippling blow. To achieve this end I've planted three bombs where the source of Gotham's corruption lies. The GCP, the courts and the major' office. All these places are corrupt and broken.

Now I believe in choice. S, people of Gotham, you have one. You can attempt to disrupt my plan, to keep Gotham under the heal of its oppressors, or you can just let the bombs go off. I shall detonate the bombs at midnight. I look forward to seeing how you act. Whether you prefer freedom or slavery.

Of course none of you do act. You don' fight. You don't attempt to face our enemies. You just sulk around. Day in, day out. Hoping that you aren't noticed. Hoping that the storm will pass and you will unscathed. Somebody else will solve your problems. Somebody else will get mugged. Has it not occurred to you people that your are all somebody's "someone else,"? That if you all remain afraid that they will win.

Who's they? The criminals. The muggers. The murders. Those people we are supposed to abhor and fight against. Yet, you don't. You, people of Gotham, are allowing scum to run around our streets. Festering, low-some beings, like a plague.

Have you become that spineless. Has this city lots its pride?

You may want to get rid of me. You may want to out me, to turn me off, to stop me talking. Tough luck Gotham. I am not some brainless advertisement from your television sets. I am not some pop-up you can block. I am not some clothes you can just throw away so you can buy the next, fickle, brand. I am a voice. I'm here to stay, like it or not Gotham.

Fear not, brothers and sisters! By the break of dawn a new age shall begin. A world of peace, hope and prosperity. Those who have brought Gotham down shall be struck down!

I Anarky, am the light of new age!

Yeah, it is short even by this series' standards, but I honestly can't think of more to write. Also, I've got exams coming up and stuff.

Anyway, have a good one. (Also this series might go on a hiatus, just a heads up)


	6. Chapter 6

All copyrights go to their respective owners. I claim no ownership over the characters used here (expect for the dude Joker is talking to, but he is barely a character). I wish no profit off writing this and I am merely doing it for the entertainment of myself and others.

I planned Joker to be the grand finale but whatever. It's the crown prince of crime himself!

You lot really are persistent you know that?

Tests, tests, so many tests. Inkblots, word association, join the dots! You've all tried everything and nothing has worked. Fresh faces all coming in here, one after another. Trying to see if they can do it. To see if they crack Arkham's star patient. Just what makes me tick? Why do I do the things I do? I am I just crazy, or is there method to this madness? Is there a point to it all? Will it ever end? How do you throw away a trash can?

You'll find out lots of things in your life kid. The answers to those questions is not one of them. It's almost endearing how you hold the pencil. Almost as if you think you'll find something out.

Who knows kid? Tonight might just be your lucky night.

Pencil. You know, I always thought of doing something with a pencil. As real showstopper. Maybe stab you right through the eye with it. Slam your head on the desk and watch the blood pour out of your face.

My, my. That is quite the expression. Tell me, what is that? Revulsion? Horror? I'm-going-to-get-Cash-in-here?

Bit too much for a first date. Oh hilarious. You should have seen the stuff I've pulled. Flowers and acid. Cake and dynamite. So many tricks. So much fun!

You want an origin story? Do you want to know what makes somebody this crazy? Did I start from humble beginnings? Was I some poor abused little child, twisted just a little bit too far?

Sit back, young sir, and let me tell you

My mother died when I was very young. She was sick while I was alive, so she spent a lot of her time indoors. My father didn't take her death well at all. He turned to drink and when he got drunk, he got violent. Of course, he was more drunk than sober, so he was violent all the time. He'd lash out at me, using me a target for his frustrations. He'd blame me for her death, as he swung his fists into my…

Sorry? You're calling this story false? Saying it doesn't match with any of my other accounts? Well, that's part of the fun. It would be a very burning world if everybody just went around revealing themselves to everybody just like that. You've got to be slow to people, take your time.

Using a knife, and a photograph of their nearest and dearest.

Whoops! Just some fond memories of all the fun times I've had with people. Did I ever tell you about the toddler and the boiling lead vat? I haven't? Well, file it between the battery acid and the dog, and the wheelchair and the c-4 explosives.

I'm a horrible, sick monster? I'm twisted and should die a slow horrible death?

Buddy, I'm flattered you've noticed. But if you folks weren't so misguided in the notion that you can "cure me," I would have been stuck in the shocker a long time ago. Still, I would prefer if Batman killed me. He's just waiting to snap. I'll push him to his limits. One day, I'll show the world just how lone Bats is.

I mean c'mon. Anybody who leaps around rooftops dressed as a flying mammal is clearly just waiting to be shovelled into the lone bin.

Would I say Batman is important to me?

Ohh, I'm crazy about him. I want him dead. He should be dead. He's been a thorn in my side for solo long. So many plans have gone wrong because of him. If he were dead I'd have the whole of Gotham under my thumb. The whole city would drown in madness and you all just be a crazy as me.

Yet I can't bring myself to kill him. Granted, he is pretty hard to kill. I mean have you seen him clear a room? Those henchmen never stand a chance. It is hilarious; watching them flail around, trying to find him, and crying in terror at every shadow and slight noise.

But I'm getting off track. I guess the reason I haven't been able to squeeze the trigger and blow his pointed face to mush is that he compliments me. We are like two peas in a pod. Fish and chips. We complement each other. We complete each other.

You say we are nothing alike? You say that Batman will never be brought down to my level. That he's worked too hard?

Let me tell you something. Before I became this, I had worked too hard. I won't tell you with what, but I never thought I'd become the Clown Prince of Crime.

Funny world, isn't it?

You've been such a good sport, listening for so long without calling for the guards. I'll give you one little piece of info. Do you want know what it took to turn me into this chalk-white, murderous loon you see before you?

One bad day. That's all it took, and everything just went away. My identity. My sanity. My life.

And I get the feeling, very soon, you'll understand just what I mean.

As always, enjoy. I'd like to say I put a lot of work into this. Thank you all for your support on this series.

Best of days to you.


End file.
